


time

by eavis



Category: Our Mutual Friend - Charles Dickens
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Gen Fic, how did this get so long oh my stars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:38:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eavis/pseuds/eavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his way to fetch Jenny, Mortimer thinks back on the times he and Eugene shared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	time

**Author's Note:**

> You guys I literally wrote this in five hours so I apologise in advance for any horrible mistakes. I've not yet read the book, so this is movieverse canon, as far as that goes.

_To every thing there is a season..._

 

October, 1865

 

Mortimer had left Eugene with Lizzie and the doctor, suppressing the fierce unhappiness that rose at the thought of anyone else taking care of his friend, and hastened on his errand to fulfill Eugene’s request. He bit back a sob at the thought that it might very well be his last request, banging on the hatch to urge the driver faster. It wasn’t the first, nor, he vowed to himself, would it be the last, time he had hurried to fetch someone for a suffering Eugene.

 

_A time to be born..._

 

November, 1840

 

“Mortimer! Mortimer please, the babies will die if we don’t do something!”

 

“Eugene, I said to drop it. It’s just an old cat and her kittens, I’m sure they’ll be fine. You can’t afford to lose any more points; you know Chumley’s got it out for you since your hack at rugger.”

 

“I didn’t do it on _purpose_ , he just left his big fat feet right in my way. And if you won’t help me I’ll sneak out alone and get into a frightful row, see if I don’t.”

 

“Go on then and see if I care! I’m tired of getting into trouble for you, Eugene, especially over something as stupid and babyish as a litter of kittens that are going to die anyway.”

 

_And a time to die..._

 

November, 1840, later that night

 

“I’m sorry, Eugene.”

 

“I just wanted to help them.”

 

“I know. I’m sorry I said it was stupid and babyish - it wasn’t, not a bit of it.”

 

“It’s not _fair_. Now old Sparks has got them, and you know all his cats either die or turn out mean as he is, and the little black one was so small already.”

“I’m awfully sorry, Eugene.”

 

“‘S all right, I guess. At least they’re out of the cold now. And - Mortimer?”

 

“Yes, Eugene?”

 

“Thanks for backing me up when I said I was sneaking down to try the buttery hatch.”

 

“You’re my mate. What else was I supposed to do, leave you to Chumley’s tender mercies?”

 

_A time to kill..._

 

June, 1845

 

The opponents meet on the designated field, both certain of their own just cause and both with the lust of battle in their eye. Neither wants to make the first move, for only one will leave victorious and they are not quite sure of the other’s mettle. The two circle each other, feinting occasionally. The taller, heavier assailant is the favoured one, although some loyal persons laid heavy odds on the light, slighter challenger’s ability to outmaneuver the enemy.

 

A rush, a check, a feint - and the taller is indeed conquered, flat on his back and at the mercy of the other. He glances up, eyes seeking those of his second, who shakes his head, shouting, “Now’s not the time for mercy, Eugene! Finish him off!”

 

A slight hesitation, and then a straight, hard blow to the mouth. First blood, and at the sight of it, the downed boy breaks down and takes back the earlier insults.

 

Satisfied, Eugene dusts himself off and turns to take his jacket back from Mortimer, who sighs and brushes a piece of bracken from the other’s waistcoat. “You can’t go on challenging everyone who insults me, Eugene. Your mother -”

 

“My mother cares very little about what I do, provided I turn out a credit to my family and to society. And besides.” Eugene smiles, that same carefree, insouciant grin that Mortimer has grown to love and fear in equal measure. “I could’n’t let him impugn your honour in such a fashion! You’re the best friend a man could ever ask for and anyone who calls you names is going to live to regret it.”

 

_And a time to heal..._

 

February, 1847

 

“Why you would’n’t go to your mother’s and let them take care of you I don’t know,” Mortimer grumbled, setting down the tray with infinite care upon the small bedside table and picking up their worn brown teapot with the chipped spout. “Heaven knows she can afford better care than I, and _you_ know you always catch ill this time of year. Open up.”

 

Eugene obediently opened his mouth and let Mortimer drip beef tea into it from the cracked spout, then remarked as his friend turned to deposit the pot back on the tray and pick up the tumbler with his medicine in it, “But Mortimer, if I were to go to my mother’s I would miss your tender care and really, it’s not as if they care particularly about -” he broke off in a fit of coughing.

 

Mortimer hastily put down the tumbler and slipped an arm behind the other’s shoulders, raising him off the pillow. “Easy, Eugene, easy. Just breath through it, there’s a lad. Don’t try to talk.”

 

Eugene screwed up his face at him, leaning back against his friend’s arm and closing his eyes. “It’s a wonder you put up with me, Mortimer. You’re right, I should have gone to the manor, but I could’n’t bear her fussing and fretting over me. I’d much rather have you, even though I know it’s selfish.”

 

“Hush, Eugene. You know I don’t mind.”

 

One long-lashed eye opened and a corner of the sensitive mouth curled up. “You never do. Dear Mortimer. What have I done to deserve a friend like you?”

 

“Absolutely nothing but be a lie-about and get me into trouble,” Mortimer said severely, gently laying Eugene’s head back onto the pillow, “and as payment I insist you drink your tonic and the rest of this beef tea and go directly to sleep.”

 

“Couldn’t I have just the beef instead?”

 

“Absolutely not.” - With great firmness.

 

“I take back what I said. You’re a perfectly beastly friend and I hope you catch whatever I have - I’ll pour nasty things down your throat and see how you like it then.”

 

“Do be quiet Eugene; you are clearly not well.”

 

_A time to weep..._

 

November, 1853

 

Of course Eugene volunteered to fight in the war - full of enthusiasm tempered by that whimsical cynicism he’d had ever since Mortimer had known him - it was a forgone conclusion that he would.

Thank God, the sergeant had taken one look at his medical records and sent him on his way again. Mortimer had grabbed hold of Eugene and shaken him. “What were you _thinking_ , you imbecile? You can’t go off and fight! You’re needed here!”

Eugene had looked at him, shaken his head, and promptly gotten himself attached to a medical unit operating along the border. He was there two months, got shot in the leg, and was shipped back home. Mortimer hadn’t heard from Eugene in all the time he had been gone, and when he got the telegram that said only, _shot in the leg train gets in 11.00 the 25_ _th_ _yours faithfully eugene_ , he shut the door on the delivery boy and leaned against it. And if he shed a few tears of relief, there was no one there to see.

_And a time to laugh..._

May, 1854

 

Eugene stood stoically in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as Mortimer fell about the room in helpless fits of laughter. “Glad you’re finding this so amusing, Mortimer.”

 

“I’m sorry, Eugene - it’s just - you - you bear a remarkable resemblance to a drowned cat and I’ve never known any woman to reject your advances in such a - a _decided_ manner before.”

 

“How was I supposed to know she hated _Greensleeves_ so much? Everybody’s supposed to love it, and it’s by far the easiest tune to pick out when you’re only just learning.” He looked mournfully at the guitar, dripping onto the hearthrug.

 

Mortimer clapped him on the back. “Look on the bright side, Eugene. Our poor landlady won’t be tormented by your practicing anymore.”

 

“That hurts, Mortimer.”

 

“Not as much as your playing, my friend.”

 

_A time to mourn..._

 

July, 1854

 

Two figures standing by an open grave. The heat is stifling and in the distance thunder rolls. The taller puts his hand on the other’s shoulder, leans in to say something. He nods in response to whatever the reply is, and resumes his position shoulder to shoulder with the bereaved man.

 

_And a time to dance..._

 

August, 1854

 

It was raining, and Mortimer was comfortably ensconced in his favourite armchair with a cup of tea, a few biscuits, and Black’s Law Dictionary (he hoped to take his exams and pass the bar later this year, if Eugene would ever leave him alone long enough to -)

 

“Mortimer!” Eugene’s head came ‘round the door and Mortimer breathed in for a count of ten before replying, “Yes, Eugene?”

 

“You’ve got to come out - the weather’s beautiful!”

 

“Eugene, it’s raining cats and dogs.”

 

The other man ignored this, hair plastered to his head and eyes dancing like the raindrops on the window panes. “Please, Mortimer, do come out.”

 

Mortimer sighed, but put down his book and cast a regretful glance at his cup of tea before smiling at Eugene. (If he was honest he would weather a great deal more than a bit of wet to see the answering smile on Eugene’s face, especially after the war and the death of his greatly loved grandmother.) “Very well, Eugene, I shall come splash about in puddles with you.”

 

(After all, what were friends for but to make fools of oneself so that the other could laugh?)

 

_A time to embrace..._

 

December, 1854

 

The two men stood awkwardly in the entryway, both longing to say something but neither knowing quite what or how to say it.

 

“It’s only for a fortnight, Eugene.”

 

The younger man fidgeted. “Yes, but it’s a fortnight at my _mother’s_ house. And you’ll be trapped with that horrible aunt of yours. Honestly, Mortimer, I’m half convinced she was Shakespeare’s inspiration for Macbeth’s Three Witches.”

 

That drew a half-smile. “She’s not all bad.”

 

“Not if you’re half-harpy yourself, I suppose. You’re not, are you?”

 

“Eugene.”

 

“I’m sorry, I know it’s frightfully unkind of me, and she has been kind to you, I suppose.” He drew his hat snugly onto his head and held out his hand. “So long, Mortimer. Happy Christmas.”

 

The other grasped it firmly. “Happy Christmas, Eugene. Don’t forget to take your tonic or you’ll catch your death of cold.”

 

“ _Yes_ mum.”

 

A week and a half later, Mortimer was roused from sleep by Jenkins, his aunt’s butler, knocking politely on the door. “I apologise for disturbing you, sir, but William says there’s a visitor at the door wishing to see you rather urgently.”

 

“Yes, of course, Jenkins, I’ll go at once - it’s probably poor Mrs. Dearly’s son come to fetch me. I told him I’d come see that her will was drawn up fairly before she passed.” He hastily pulled on some clothes and snatched his case.

 

“All right, Jim, I’m coming, what’s - Eugene!” He dropped his case and dove forward just in time to catch his friend in a poor imitation of an embrace before he collapsed onto the floor. “Eugene, what on earth are you doing here?”

 

He was visibly shivering, and there was snow in the tentative mustache he’d begun to grow, but he gamely attempted a smile. “Hullo, Mortimer. Sorry for barging in like this - my highly esteemed mother went on another of her rampages and I couldn’t stick it any longer, so I walked straight out.”

 

“Good God, man - it’s got to be twenty miles!”

 

“Was it? I didn’t notice.” Eugene smiled. “I say, Mortimer, do you mind if I stay with you? I promise not to be any trouble - well, I’d better not promise that - I promise to be as little trouble as I can. Have you got a couch or sofa or something I can borrow?”

 

“Yes of course. Here! William! Fetch me up some hot water bottles, won’t you, and a hot cup of tea with a little brandy. Come along, Eugene.”

 

“Won’t your aunt mind?”

 

“Hang my aunt! - oh, thank you, Jenkins. You didn’t hear that last.”

 

“Of course not, sir. May I be of any further assistance, sir?”

 

“No, I’ve got it, Jenkins, thank you. Just send William up with the tea when it’s ready.” Mortimer hauled a disturbingly pliant Eugene up and got one of his arms about his neck. “Come on, Eugene. It’s just a few more feet.”

 

Eugene stayed compliant all through the process of getting his wet things off and warm woollens on and the cup of tea and brandy, but protested strenuously when Mortimer put the hot water bottles into the bed and began to haul him over to it. “Mortimer, that’s your bed! I’m the one who came barging in here with absolutely no respect for your family or sleep and I’m perfectly happy with a couch.”

 

“Eugene, if you don’t stop being an idiot I’m going to knock you out and then put you to bed. Either do it gracefully or not; the choice is yours.”

 

Eugene subsided, grumbling.

 

_And a time to refrain from embracing..._

 

March, 1854

 

“Gently, my dear fellow.”

 

“Eugene, what have you done _now_.”

 

“I was attempting to be gallant. It’s hardly my fault a carriage was in the way of my efforts.”

 

“You’ve broken _three ribs_.”

 

“Then you’d best hold off on that clasping me to your manly bosom.”

 

“ _Eugene._ ”

 

October, 1865

 

_A time to love..._

 

Eugene loved Lizzie, Lizzie loved Eugene. Jack shall have Jill, Naught shall go ill, and Mortimer knew he ought to back out gracefully and let them get on with their well-deserved bliss.

 

_And a time to hate..._

 

But he almost hated Lizzie, for being the one Eugene came back from the threshold of death for, and not for him.

 

_A time of war..._

 

He didn’t say anything, for fear the volley of words that would come out would be such that Lizzie would despise him and Eugene would look at him and see a man he wanted nothing to do with.

 

_And a time of peace..._

 

But then, when Lizzie came out that night, when Death had come and was bid to leave again, she had come straight to him, before even Jenny, and thrown herself into his arms, crying, “He will live, oh! he will live!” and Mortimer knew that they two loved him more than any and at least they were united in their fierce desire to see him well and happy, by any means within their power.

 

_I have seen the travail..._

 

The anxious days after he returned with Jenny, waiting to see if Eugene would live or die, forbidden even to mete out justice to the one responsible, Mortimer thought he might go mad.

 

_But He hath made everything beautiful in His time..._

 

And the grass was rich and green, the sky, for a wonder, was clear and blue, and he was surrounded by good folk, and though he was the only one without a partner, he was content. There would doubtless be more suffering, more running to and fro upon the earth, but after all...

 

_...I know that there is no good in [the days], but for a man to rejoice, and to do good in his life. And also that every man should eat and drink, and enjoy the good of all his labour, it is the gift of God. I know that, whatsoever God doeth, it shall be for ever: nothing can be put to it, nor any thing taken from it: and God doeth it, that men should fear before him. That which hath been is now; and that which is to be hath already been; and God requireth that which is past..._

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> feed the author!


End file.
